


If I Loved You Less

by signofhetime



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 19th Century, F/F, F/M, Inspired by Once Upon a Time (TV), Master/Servant, Victorian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-02-27 22:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13258005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signofhetime/pseuds/signofhetime
Summary: ‘Emma... If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me. I have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it.’





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is dedicated to the wonderful Ginny (@hooknleather), my lifesaver beta, muse and friend. I hope you all enjoy it <333 And let me know what you think!!

January, 1817.

  
It was an inclement Winter afternoon when she first arrived at the house. Growing up in an orphanage, Emma had never seen such a marvellous building in all of her life. Although the winds were ruthless and the sky threatened egregious showers, it still looked utterly breathtaking. She reckoned it to be of relatively old architecture, this assumption made by the imposing stone columns that stood at the entrance, and the inimitable, ornate marble steps leading up to them. The garden was too impressive, a wild affair of bold roses, neatly-trimmed hedges and cascading green ivy shaping the front of the house. Although the day was dismal and less than complimentary, the estate had not been deterred, and had defiantly shone in all its beauty. The gentle midday light offered a warm take on the building, making it seem welcoming as opposed to intimidating. But this house was not one to blend in, it was instead a thespian among businessmen. A chimpanzee among sloths. She sighed to herself contentedly, both apprehensive and eager to venture forth into - what may soon have been - her new place of employment. The advertisement in the newspaper specified a young, unmarried woman was required as a governess for the household. Emma was both of those things, but had no experience to her advantage or any income whatsoever. She had tried with all her might to seek employment, but as soon as her potential employer discovered she was penniless and an orphan, she would swiftly be shown to the door.

  
She inhaled a deep breath, knocking on the door nervously. Moments later, it opened, to reveal an amiable looking woman in an apron.   
“Oh, hello! You must be Emma, no?” The woman asked, to which Emma hastily nodded. “Come on in!”   
Emma observed that she had striking green eyes, with brown hair that fell past her shoulders, shaping her attractive face. She wore a cream shirt and skirt, mostly covered by a stained apron. She was relaxed, and, much in contrast to Emma, she seemed sure of herself. As if she would not rather be anywhere else.  
“My name is Ruby,” The woman started, closing the door behind Emma. “Sir is not home at the moment, he is currently attending Eloise’s ballet performance.”

“Eloise? Is she-”  
“The child you would be looking after, of course.” Ruby grinned. “They shall be home any moment now, it was merely a matinee.”  
“All right, then, shall I uh- wait for them?”  
“If you wish, or I could show you around,” The woman offered.   
“Are there many of you?” Emma inquired, gazing around the grand hallway. She saw many doors to her left and right, but also caught a glimpse of a large staircase at the foot of the hallway.   
“Servants?” Emma nodded her confirmation, “Indeed, there are quite a few of us. You shall meet them today, if you would like to follow me.”

  
She followed the brunette through to the first room on their right, which revealed itself to be some sort of family room. Ruby explained that his Lordship spent a lot of time in that room with his daughter, whom he had a very special relationship with. The next room was the dining room, a rather sparse room that only consisted of an expansive dining table and a large chandelier in the centre. Although it had little to offer, she found the dining room to be wonderful.

  
The next room was a capacious living room, comprised of a large plush sofa that sat opposite a grand fireplace - which she suspected would radiate the most delightful warmth on a cold evening - and a large portrait above it.   
“That is the Lord and his daughter,” Ruby answered her unspoken question matter-of-factly.   
“There is no Lady of the household?” Emma asked, very much addled. Every Lord had a Lady.  
“Oh, no, that is _quite_ a story - one only his Lordship should tell.” Ruby shook her head softly, “Shall we move on?”  
Emma nodded, following the woman into what turned out to be the kitchen. The room was bustling with servants, to-ing and fro-ing between steaming pans.

  
“You will not be spending much time in here, if you do get the job.” Ruby shouted over the cacophony of voices shouting orders and taking them.  
She simply nodded her understanding, shuffling backwards out of the room and into the silent hallway.   
As Ruby turned to take her to the next room, the door opened.   
“Come on, darling, let’s get you in—” The man stopped, facing Emma. “Who is this?”

  
She found herself staring, shamefully, but he was incredibly dashing. The portrait in the living room did not do him justice. He had striking blue eyes, gleaming in the afternoon sun, which had clearly disproved her initial assumption of rain. He looked slightly dishevelled - his hair slightly messy due to the wind and his cravat askew - but it suited him beautifully. He bore a small scruff on his chin, hiding what appeared to be a distinguished jawline. He was dressed well, naturally, in a navy coat and trousers as far as she could see.

  
“This is Emma, Eloise’s potential governess.” Ruby finally announced, but the Lord’s eyes were still locked on hers.  
“Right,” He whispered, as if gasping for air, “Lord Jones, but feel free to address me as Killian.”   
“It is a pleasure to meet you, milord.” She smiled softly, curtseying before him.  
“What did I just say?” He laughed quietly, shaking his head.  
“Father?” A small voice came from behind Lord J— _Killian_. His daughter. “Can I come out now?”  
“You may, sweetheart,” He laughed again, “Eloise, this is Miss Emma.”  
“It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss.” Eloise smiled shyly, extending her hand to Emma. She was a beautiful young child, with piercing green eyes but dark brown locks akin to her father’s.

  
Emma crouched down, shaking Eloise’s dainty hand, “It is an honour to meet you, Miss Eloise.” She smiled warmly at the child, watching absentmindedly as Killian scooped her up in his arms.  
“Father, put me down at once!” The young girl giggled, wriggling about in her father’s hold.  
“Would you like to play with Miss Emma?” Killian asked his daughter through intermittent bursts of laughter.  
“Certainly!” Eloise squealed, grabbing Emma's hand and dragging her into the family room. Killian followed, hovering over his daughter as she thrust a teddy towards Emma, “This,” The child paused, smiling momentarily, “Is Ted.”

  
“Well, isn't he marvellous!” Emma feigned marvel at the bear, hoping to display interest to Eloise. “How do you, Sir Ted?”  
She picked up the bear, moving its head up and down to indicate a nod, causing Eloise to laugh, fall onto to her back and roll around on the floor hysterically.

  
They played for a long while, creating a wife for Sir Ted, whom Eloise decided to call Emma aptly. Emma said that she had never been so honoured, and smiled softly at the young girl, whom she had grown fond of within minutes - her omnipresent positivity and cheer was remarkable to Emma, considering that she only had children she was acquainted with in the orphanage to base her knowledge off. Eloise had clearly lived a comfortable childhood, with no worry or isolation ever crossing her path. Emma had not been quite so lucky, nor had she been so optimistic as a child, but her determination had carried her to twenty-four, and it was that determination that she intended to use to succeed in her employment.

  
“Papa, pray can she be my governess?” Eloise said to her father once the day drew to a close, and Emma was gathering her minimal belongings to leave. She felt that the day had been successful, but no word from Lord Jones (she felt most comfortable calling him by his title, out of formality and lack of familiarity) worried her. It was only as she put her overcoat on that she overheard Eloise’s plea.

  
“Do you like her?” She heard Lord Jones ask.  
“Oh, yes, very much.” This brought a wide smile to Emma’s face.  
“Then of course, she will be your governess.”   
Emma released a breath she had not known that she was holding, and hastily turned away to move towards the door as if she had not heard a thing.  
“Miss Emma?” His voice rang in the hallway, thus she slowly turned on her heels to face him.  
“Yes, milord?” He sighed inwardly, noticing that she was addressing him formally once more.

  
“I believe that you have yourself a position as my daughter’s governess, if you do so wish to take it.” He said shyly, reaching to scratch behind his ear.  
“That is excellent news, milord,” She could not fight the wide smile on her face as realisation struck, “When shall I return?”   
“You need not leave,” He replied nonchalantly, “I shall have Mary Margaret prepare you a room at once.”  
“That is very kind of you, milord, but I do not intend to impose-”  
“Miss Emma,” Lord Jones sighed, “By no means are you imposing, and I believe it would be most beneficial for you to be close to Eloise at all times, as that way you need not travel back and forth all the time.”  
She realised quickly what he was implying; she would be permanently staying in the house.

  
“Oh, well, thank you very much, milord, that is incredibly generous of you.”   
“You are most welcome, Miss Emma, I will fetch Ruby to take you to your room and we shall draw up your contract tomorrow.”  
She nodded and curtsied quickly, and so he disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. Ruby appeared moments later, accompanied with a wide grin.  
“I was confident you would get along with her,” Ruby smiled, gesturing for Emma to follow her up stairs. It did not take Emma long to become fond of the grand staircase - a large wooden gateway to her future, she supposed. She ran her hand along the sturdy wood, taking in its depth. Every thing in the house had mesmerised her, but the most impressionable by far was the staircase and it's simple elegance. Before she knew it, they had reached her chamber.

  
“Are there no servant’s quarters?” Emma asked, noticing that the floor she stood on seemed far too grand to be designated for servants. The rooms seemed to be lavish from what she could discern, and the room Ruby had assigned as hers seemed _far_ too luxurious for a humble servant.  
“There are, but not many reside there. Most servants sleep on this floor, and Killian doesn't mind at all, he has never been one for segregation.”

  
Emma sighed into her new bed, relishing in the way she melted into it. Never before had she experienced such comfort - such bliss. Everything from her nightgown to her bed felt proper and sumptuous. With a content sigh, she reached for the only item in the room that she could claim as her own, her beloved copy of _Emma_. She could still recall when she bought it, nearly six months ago salvaging just enough money from her minimal savings to purchase the novel; and oh, how dearly she held it. Lest she forget how the title had intrigued her initially, for she had never seen such a title. So, every time she read the book, she pictured herself as the protagonist, squinting her eyes closed until she was there, a Lady in her own right, with not a worry in the world. But she felt a connection with said character, Emma Woodhouse had been separated from her closest companion and Emma Swan had been isolated from any one who may have ever loved her. She brushed her fingertips over the book cover, feeling its slight roughness under her touch. Closing her eyes, she willed her mind to venture to the wildest of places, and there she dreamt. She dreamt the wildest of dreams, in which she was Emma Woodhouse and Lord Jones was - inexplicably - Mr Knightley, and the two were madly, hopelessly in love.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long to get posted, but here it is. Hope you enjoy - thank you ever so much to the wonderful Ginny (@hooknleather) as always. I love you so much.

January, 1817.

Emma awoke to Ruby’s loud voice, ripping through her delightful slumber and dragging her back into reality.  
“Hm?” She mumbled, sitting up, slightly disoriented.  
“You should get dressed now, as you are meeting Eloise and Lord Jones in the dining room in half an hour for breakfast.” Ruby announced, smiling at her briefly before excusing herself. _She was eating with Lord Jones and his daughter?_ By no means had she expected such treatment, instead she had anticipated dining with the fellow servants. She began to pace, nothing quite making sense as she traversed over the cold wood floor. But, she had nothing to wear. Or so she believed, until she discovered a dress on the chair that stood at the foot of her bed.

  
The dress fit her remarkably well, she had to admit, running her hand over the intricate lace detailing on the sleeves. She did not know how anyone could find such a perfect fit, especially as she had never clarified her size. Reaching for her coat pocket, she shakily slipped a pin through her curly locks. She had to impress, she thought, placing the pin in with such care and precision, breathing deeply, reaching for the door with a slight tremble. It would be modest to say that she was apprehensive, quite frankly, for she craved nothing more than making a good impression. For all the might in her, she _had_ to make a good impression.

  
“Good morning, milord,” She curtsied upon arrival at the dining room. Lord Jones and Eloise were sat at the head of the table, and she noticed how there was a plate opposite the child and next to Lord Jones. She had most certainly expected to sit opposite them, which in itself would have been an honour, so she could not comprehend why such an arrangement would be made.  
“Good morning, Miss Emma, please, do sit.” Lord Jones smiled gently, waving his hand towards the seat next to him.

  
Emma observed the breath leave her lungs within an instant, as if she were a figure watching her body from the other side of the room. She felt the life vanish; rushing up her throat and through her mouth, rendering her speechless. She could not do anything but comply, swallowing thickly and taking the seat.

  
“How are you this fine morning, Miss Emma?” Lord Jones queried, simultaneously thanking the servant that rushed in with their food.  
“Very well, milord, how are you?” Emma barely managed to convey her words, feeling her throat close up. She could not look at him, instead opting for smiling at the young girl opposite her.  
“I am quite well, thank you.” He nodded, bringing his eyes up to meet hers.  
“Papa?” Eloise spoke quietly.  
“Yes, sweetheart?”  
“May we eat now? I am ravenous.” The child patted her belly impatiently.  
“We may.” Lord Jones chuckled, his eyes not leaving Emma.

  
The food was exceptional, and Emma ensured her compliments were passed on to the cook. She found herself quite full afterwards, not quite sure that she could ever eat another thing.  
Eloise disappeared only moments after finishing her food, declaring an urge to play with Sir Ted and Emma.

  
“If you would like to follow me, Miss Emma, we shall arrange your contract now?” Lord Jones said, clearing his throat as he made way for her to exit before him.  
“I am no Lady, milord, you need not let me leave before you.” Emma admonished him, shaking her head lightly. Her words were sincere, she did not have such an importance, so she need not receive it. She would never be a Lady, for that life was not intended for her, so she would request to be treated as she should.  
“Nonsense,” Lord Jones disputed, “I shall treat you as a Lady, for you are one. A true Lady. A title does not define you, Miss Emma.”  
“That is very kind of you, milord, but—”  
“Your rebuttal will not change my mind, Miss Emma.” He laughed heartily, “Now, shall we?”

  
They took the journey she had adored so much the night before up the stairs - just as beautiful as they had previously been - until they arrived at a door merely a few doors down from Emma’s chamber. Emma’s eyes grew wide as Lord Jones pushed open the door, uncovering the most wonderful room she had seen thus far. An office, she gathered, noticing a brown wooden desk playing host to multiple stacks of paperwork. There was a fireplace, as there seemed to be many in the house, with a large settee and piles of books atop a small side table. The room was, indeed, spectacular, and it was possibly one of the most understated rooms in the entirety of the house.

  
“Would you care for a cup of tea, Miss Emma?” He asked, sitting down in his rather inviting chair.  
“A cup of tea would be most agreeable, milord, but—”  
He waved his hand dismissively, ringing the bell on his desk.  
A servant she did not recognise appeared; she was short and fair, with plump cheeks and a wide smile. Emma found herself compelled to the woman, who she thought seemed very sated, very comfortable. She had short black hair, an uncommon style, and glittering, virescent eyes that radiated the greatest warmth Emma had ever known.  
“Mary Margaret, would you fetch us two cups of tea?” Lord Jones requested politely.  
“Certainly, is there anything else?” She spoke tenderly, as if a mother to a newborn, and with a sort of delight - like she was gladly in service there.  
“That will be all for now, thank you.” The woman nodded her head graciously, retreating with a small curtsey.

  
“Milord,” Emma started, to which he looked up immediately, “Forgive me, but I cannot help but notice how pleased your employees seem to be.”  
He chuckled with a clear amusement, “They are not slaves, Miss Emma, their happiness is paramount to me. I treat them fairly, as so they should be.”  
“Naturally.” She whispered in response, feeling rather embarrassed with herself.  
“Anyhow, you shall be treated as all under my employ are - with dignity and respect. Each week, you shall have one day off, and special occasions, of course. You need not address me with my title, it is quite unnecessary and no other in this household does it frequently.”

  
Lord Jones (she insisted on still addressing him as such), pushed the paperwork along the table, “Feel free to pick it apart, if there is anything to your distaste in there, do let me know.”  
“Of course…” She paused, her eyes staggering at the clause stating her pay. “A-Are you certain this is correct?” With an unsteady finger, she pointed at the figure.  
“Quite certain.” He smirked slightly, “Now, if I leave you with that, may I show you something?”  
“Uh- certainly… milord.”

  
His smile grew wide, as he rushed with a sudden urgency to the door, “I suspect that you will love it.”  
She merely nodded, still dazed at the staggering figure Lord Jones was offering her - _thirty pounds_?  
They arrived at a door just across the hallway in mere moments, Emma gazing at the solid wood with a burning curiosity.  
“This is my favourite room in the whole house,” He grinned, pushing the door open. Emma's jaw fell slack as she became aware of the rows and rows of books in front of her.  
“Why, isn't this marvellous!” She cried upon entering the library, rushing with some haste to embrace every book as if she never would again, brushing her hand over the cool leather spines as she skipped through the room.

  
“Beautiful, is it not?” Lord Jones quietly admired his own creation, walking with slight urgency to catch up with Emma.  
“Quite,” She breathed out, picking up a rather heavy book, “This one is French, milord! Oh, and this one is… Italian I believe. How extraordinary!”  
“I speak several languages, Miss Emma.” His low voice came in response, a gentle chuckle barely identifiable amongst the noise of Emma rustling pages and moving in her gown.  
“You do? That is impressive, milord.” She grinned, glancing up at him for a moment before retreating to her newest discovery. “In America, one never sees such beautiful literature. I swear to you, I knew not who Jane Austen was until I set foot in this country.”  
Lord Jones quickly decided not to pursue the subject of Emma’s immigration, not now, not when she was glowing with elation. “I have many of her novels, so you have them all at your disposal.”  
“That is very kind of you, milord,” She grimaced, pain inflicting itself on that beautiful smile of hers. Evidently, her past was painful. She had clearly brought some of that pain to life in her reminiscence, and he would not hurt her more.

  
As if the Earth had flipped on its head, she suddenly composed herself.  
“Milord, I do declare that there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book! When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library.” She abruptly cried, snapping back into that ruse of happiness she portrays so well, the smile reforming on her lips.  
“A house of your own, Miss Emma?” Lord Jones raised an eyebrow inquisitively.  
“Well, milord, perhaps not my _own_ , but-”  
“It's quite alright, Miss Emma,” He laughed softly, “I do so hope that you have a house of your own one day. One in which you can read to your heart’s content.”  
“Why thank you, milord.” She bowed quickly, putting the book in her hand back on the shelf sheepishly.

  
“What is your favourite book?”  
They had been comfortably silent for a few minutes when Lord Jones spoke. The soundless bliss had fallen over them steadily, like a gentle wind on a Winter’s morning, and as such she had settled into it rather easily. It took her by surprise, that much was clear, as she lost her balance suddenly and fell from the small step ladder she had stood on. A strong pair of arms caught her almost immediately; Lord Jones panting heavily as a consequence of racing from one side of the library to the other in mere seconds.  
“Th- Thank you.” She breathed, gazing up at him.  
“Of course, Miss Emma, are you alright?” He asked quietly, staring at her thoughtfully, enraptured by the way her features glowed in the warm light seeping through the curtains. Though he would never tell her that.

  
“Quite,” Emma sighed as her feet touched the floor, releasing from his hold, “Thank you ever so much, milord.” Clearing her throat, she hurried to the door, before stopping, changing her mind, her hand wavering above the handle.  
“Uh- milord?” She said dubiously, not daring to turn and face him again just yet. Frankly, she was scared. Scared as she did not know what to do with herself, she could not compose herself around him. She could not relax around him, for he put her on edge in the most peculiar way.  
“Yes?”

  
She swallowed thickly, abandoning the brass handle and swaying on her feet to look him in the eye. He was staring right back.  
“Emma.” She replied with a small smile, bunching her gown in her hands as if to occupy herself - she would have done _anything_ to avoid his gaze in that moment, to feel as if she was not constantly treading on eggshells.  
“Emma?” He repeated, a perplexed grin writhing on his lips.  
“Emma. My favourite book is Emma.”


End file.
